


Barefoot in the Snow

by orphan_account



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Body Horror, Dark fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-20
Packaged: 2018-01-07 23:45:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I feel like this is one of the darkest things I'm going to be writing until I can get motivation for other stuff. </p><p>Trigger Warnings for:<br/>Body Horror</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Remind me to never have these ideas ever again

 

The Jaeger’s two pilot system is, eventually, not enough. The drift, the drivesuits, the sensors and fancy technology is not enough. There has to be something _more_ , something that’s more _solid_ than just hooking up two brains together. It’s just not working.

And then the scientists come up with something ingenious and disgusting all at once. Merging with the machine - the jaeger.

When they introduce this new idea to the Beckets, they’re horrified. Want nothing to do with it, but feel obligated to anyway. They feel they’ve got no other choice, and they’ve only got themselves to live for; family dead and rotting away under six feet of dirt. They decide to go through with it.

_“Gotta uphold the selfless rockstar image, huh, Rals?”_

The techs tell them that they’ll have two weeks of leave before they get plugged in (nearly permanently) to their conn-pod. They’re told that they can leave the conn-pod every now and then, in the lull between fights, but not too often. Apparently it’s a bitch to plug them back in once they’re out.

The Becket boys spend the next two days curled around one another, getting up only to use the facilities and get meager nourishment. The boys savor their days of freedom slowly, tangled together on days where the heavy weight of what lies ahead becomes _too much._

The one thing the techs and docs forget to mention is that the second week of their leave will be half-dedicated to sewing and implanting in circular disks into their bodies, everywhere. Upper arms, lower arms, thighs, calves, neck, base of the spine and base of the head, one over their hearts and one over their jugular.  The silvery-aluminum-steel shines in the light, three slim rectangular slits in each one. _‘Sockets,’_ Raleigh realizes one day. They don’t hurt much, but they’re not comfortable. They make him and Yancy look like monsters, or something of the sort. _‘Robots, maybe?’_ Raleigh thinks to himself, and then marvels in the irony of how _yes, that’s what he’s soon to become._

__

Raleigh spends the rest of his time wandering at night, when he thinks Yancy’s sleeping, because he usually is. Yancy spends the rest of his time tracing the small disks and feeling so sorry for his brother. So sorry that he couldn’t just do it himself and let Rals be free, even though he’d never allow it. Either way, they both end up getting piss-drunk and shacking up with pretty people, stumbling back to their shared room and murmuring apologies to ghosts.

Then the day is upon them. “Plug In day,” they called it. The Beckets know that they’re not the only ones getting plugged in; there are others. Lucky Seven, Cherno Alpha, Romeo Blue, Horizon Brave, the ones that wouldn’t decline. The ones that felt obligated, the Beckets assumed. They shower and shave, not knowing how long it’ll be before they’re let out.

They walk into their dressing room (a joke shared between pilots; taking the piss of the whole “rockstar” image) and are immediately told to strip to their underwear-standard procedure. The only thing that is strange is that there are no techs bolting them into their drivesuits. They share a look, withering, weary, unsure, and are ushered into the conn-pod of Gypsy, that looks too different. There are cables and wires, tubing, piping. This...this is a different place, no longer Gypsy. All of the spirit is gone, and in its place are lengths of spiraling cables. [  
](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Wedos-QiwTwfpLIGSmriPPTkayBPghSND-EMCkAcOqI/edit)


	2. Plug In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They become whole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for:  
> minor emetophobia  
> body horror and disturbing and graphic scenes

Stepping in hasn’t been so terrifying since their first deployment. The techs look how Raleigh feels; like they’re about to vomit. The harness looks like it’s been torn and mangled. There are wires popping out from the pedals, there’s a new spinal rig and the parts that would attach to the gauntlets are thinner, but bulkier. It’s a mutation, and it’s no longer familiar.

Yancy bites the bullet first, stepping up onto the platform, Raleigh following soon after. The techs look unsure, afraid, and the boys try to ignore that. Both brothers shoot them a look that screams a pained _‘get on with it’_ that starts them into motion, albeit hesitantly. They start from the legs up, sliding in the “plugs” into the circular “sockets” that have been implanted in them. They slide in easily enough, but the feeling is grotesque. Raleigh can feel it plunging into his skin, wiggling around until it gets settled, and it’s disgusting.

When they get to the base of his spine, that’s when he really feels it. The tech behind him is being ginger with it, sliding it in as carefully as they can, but it creates a buzzing sensation that flies up his spine and down his arms and legs. It’s stinging, but not as painful as it could be, until it’s _pushed in_ , and he howls like a banshee. There’s nothing they can do to help him, though. He has to keep going. Has to, can’t back out now.

Vaguely, when the pain ebbs away slightly, he can feel Yancy flitting around at the back of his mind, anxious and worrying about him and he insists for him to _‘stop that, I’m fine, I’m fine.’_ It fades soon enough, and the techs are already pricking at his heart.

 

The process is grueling and unpleasant, but it’s over eventually. When Raleigh moves he can feel the prongs of the cables move around in him, and it’s disgusting. He opts to let himself be held up by the harness, instead. They fit looser versions of their drivesuits over them after they’re completely plugged in, comforting but too strange to be helpful all at the same time. He wonders, briefly, if he could touch Yancy if he reached far enough. Probably not.

Lights turn on in the LOCCENT mezzanine, and in a few minutes, so do the one in the twisted version of Gypsy. Tendo’s voice chimes in over the comms, but it lacks any and all cheer or enthusiasm. “Morning, Beckets,” There’s something in his voice that makes Raleigh sick; and Yancy too, he can feel it. “Hey Tendo,” they reply simultaneously, “How’d your leave go?” They can’t see Tendo’s face, but somehow, they can sense their old friend is tearing up. “It-it was okay, guys. Would’ve been better with you two there to make a ruckus, but-” He pauses and takes a shuddering breath. “Sorry, buddy, wasn’t allowed outside of the city, you know the ranger rules,” Raleigh replies alone this time. “Yeah, I get it guys, no hard feelings.” There’s a beat of silence and then, “Well, we better get this test run started, make sure there’s no problems.” The Beckets stay silent, knowing that even if they did have something to say, it wouldn’t change anything.

Gypsy’s hologram control panel pops up, signaling a countdown until neural handshake. “Rals,” Yancy calls, quietly. Raleigh turns his head to look at his brother, offering a weary smile, and receiving an equally worn one in return. _Ten seconds._ “Let’s agree that this isn’t the end, alright?” _five seconds._ Raleigh just nods, not trusting the words that might come bubbling out of his constricting throat, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes.

 

_Three, two, one…_

 

This drift is something like he’s never experienced before. It can’t really be called a drift, it’s too...too much like you’re chasing a RABIT. The smells and sights and sounds are _there_ and _solid_ , not just passing fragments of memories tugging at you. Sharp and vibrant, like watching a HD television with perfect eyesight. It flows, and flows, and flows, and Raleigh doesn’t think he could disengage this even if he wanted to. All too suddenly, it’s over, and the boys are thrust into reality. It’s so different, but also so familiar. It’s more. Yancy is no longer separate, they feel like an exact being. The concept that they are two different people seems so abstract and strange and impossible now. Right now, as far as he’s concerned, he is Yancy and he always was Yancy.

There’s a third thing there, something that Raleigh (Yancy? Raleigh.) can only identify as _Gypsy_. It’s interesting and terrifying. “Link strong and holding at 97%,” They hear over the comms, and this confuses ~~him~~ them. It feels _much more_ than 97% percent. _‘Nevermind,’_ their combined minds decide _‘It doesn’t matter.’_ and it really doesn’t, not when they feel so complete, like this.


	3. Love yourselves because nobody cares for machines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm disgusting to be honest

Eventually, after all of the tests, they let them _hang_. Suspended in darkness and alone, comms cut, the only light emanating from their life support plugs and a muted glow filtering through Gypsy’s visor. They’re not connect as fiercely as before; Raleigh can make sense of where his body ends and Yancy’s starts now, even if they don’t need their mouths open to speak right at the moment. Drift hangover, twice as strong this time. Beautiful.

Conversations in thought, Raleigh has come to realize, are rapid and slippery. They’re compressed and instantaneous, all running together in one big muddle of sentiment at first, but with practice you can sort sentences out to the point of comprehension. From comprehension, you go to slinging back your own comment just as rapid and slippery, and watching your conversational partner sort it out themselves. Eventually, it becomes seamless after repetition.  

 

The Beckets have created a seamless link. It’s terrifying to everyone around, including themselves.

 

They slip into sleep soon enough, hibernating with a conscious waiting just under the skin, firing off residual thoughts and feelings to one another. There’s a twitching sense of rage flitting behind their eyelids; a hibernating bear at the yawning at the edge of spring. When the alarm sounds and the Becket boys snap awake, their awareness is immediate. The holographic screen in front of them is displaying a vague image of what the Kaiju looks like, and also it’s codename. _‘Clawhook,’_ Raleigh reads, _‘interesting.’_

It doesn’t stand a chance.

Tendo’s voice comes on over the comms. He seems tired. “Morning, Becket boys,” He says, rather shakily. “Tendo,” They both start at the same time, “What time is it, even?” They hear the creaking of Tendo’s squeaky LOCCENT chair. “Eight in the A.M., boys,” He says. More squeaking. The boys don’t feel like they need to say anything, so they don’t. Tendo sighs, barely audible, and then speaks. “Initiating neural handshake in thirty seconds.” Raleigh braces himself, Yancy along with him. There’s a tiny, perverse part of him that loves the feeling of sifting through his brother. It makes everything just a bit sharper, clearer.

The countdown ends and they’re merging together again. Raleigh can’t tell who he is anymore, just that there are certain things that are categorized as _Yancy_ , some things are categorized _Raleigh_ and some things are categorized as _Gypsy_. The world goes from color to bleached and back to color, and the conn-pod is being dropped. It drops and hooks into the rest of Gypsy and suddenly that muted rage that was buried under layers of sedatives comes back full-force. Yan-no, Raleigh- no, no, no, _both of them_ see red, and the thing that had burrowed its way under their skin is bubbling up. Teeth bared and fists clenched, they sync up to Gypsy flawlessly and in record time.

The drop doesn’t seem to come quickly enough, but when they finally land in the waters of the San Diego bay area, the salt air that leaks in through the ports invigorates them further. Bloodlust flaring, muscles twitching _tremblingshakingquivering_. Clawhook bursts out of the water.

 

The fight doesn’t last an hour, and only that long because the Beckets insisted on taking the fucking Kaiju _apart,_ piece by piece.

 

When they make it back to the ‘dome, they rig up the conn-pod and drop the Beckets from their wires. It doesn’t stop the manic grins on their faces- in fact, the freedom seems to encourage it. Apparently the techs and docs had second thoughts on keeping them wired in for so long, and that’s fine by them.

But the emptiness from the lack of constant drift drives them _insane_ and as soon as they’re in their quarters, they’re tearing at each other. The small voice in the back of their heads that was there once upon a time seems to have crawled into a corner and died, because they’re not thinking about how wrong this is, just how _good it feels_ and how wrong it is to not be _connected_ at all. Raleigh claws at the metal in them, feels like threatening to cut Yancy open and crawl inside. He’s never felt this alone.

  
Somewhere between Clawhook and the end of their world, the Beckets become feral.


	4. Disgust and Delight of the Feral Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things (meaning the Beckets) really start to get fucked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a horrible person who loves victimizing cute little Aussies.  
> Easily the longest chapter so far.

 

Manila. The reason why they’re scrambling to get clothes on at three in the morning after being unplugged for about three months. Three months of plugin, three months of unplug. The Beckets are stranger than they would have ever been otherwise. Raleigh can’t keep Gipsy's cruel bloodlust out of his mind or his now ever-present zippertoothed smile. Yancy can’t pry Gipsy’s calculating nature and insanity from his eyes and his own, silent, threatening, smile. They’ve both taken away something from that conn-pod; had it ingrained into their very beings. being. whatever.

Raleigh yanks a shirt over his head and pants soon follow, Yancy doing the same and mirroring his movements nearly to a T. He hisses in delight at how the rough material of the PPDC issue clothing scrapes across fresh wounds- last night the boys nearly took each other apart. They clawed at the discs in their arms, itchy from disuse; scratched at eyes, bit and tore like animals, kissed like bastards and fucked like enemies. Anything to simulate that addictive rage.

They pack meagerly, two duffels full of clothes and necessary IDs and protocol shit that they never really cared much for. The Beckets clamber onto their transport and settle down for the ride. Finding pleasure in freaking out the techs and other passengers in the small compartment, they make a game out of snarling at the crew and each other, laughing like lunatics. Living in darkness for three fucking months has driven their sanity to the biting edge. After they’ve forced the additional crew back into the makeshift bunk room of the plane, they kiss like freaks.

 

Hercules and Scott Hansen are no different from when they were fighting in drivesuits, aside from having those damn discs embedded in their damn skin. Herc covers them up like old scars. Scott wears them like medals of honor. Chuck looks at them like they’re fucking monsters when he thinks Herc isn’t looking (Scott’s never looking.). When the Beckets set foot in the Manila, Herc vows that he’s not going to let Chuck out of his damn sight while they’re running around. He, resentfully, he might add,  feels glad Scott was dismissed when he realized what the Beckets are. Stark raving mad, that’s it, and he doesn’t want Scott encouraging the kid to get anywhere near them.

 

Yancy, Raleigh realizes belatedly, is sort of like an enabler. The closer they are together, the more the Gipsy rage is active- _creating ozone in between them, sparkingcracklingstatic_ -and the farther apart they are, the less influence the rage has. He can slip back slightly into his former (less manic) personality. Not like they’d ever split manually; Gipsy rage is too addictive for that. Feral Fucking Beckets, that’s them now. The nickname makes them screech laughter and bare their teeth.

The Beckets are getting _bored_ though. The predicted attack isn’t coming for-what? two months?-a while and they aren’t able to entertain themselves any longer. Scaring and manipulating techs is only so fun for so long.

 

Chuck Hansen doesn’t need his father to look after him anymore. Doesn’t need his father since he got uncle Scott discharged, doesn’t need his father because he can look after himself. It’s easy enough to slip away from Herc when he’s occupied with Lucky Seven (which he should be getting his disc implants _any day now_ ), or when he’s dicking around with the Marshal. He’s not sure how he ended up tangled in the personal space of the two Beckets, but he doesn’t care, they’re the most fun he’s had in, well, ever, probably. Raleigh is a riot and Yancy just eggs him on further. It’s entertaining. He’s gotten warned from Gipsy’s crew, from Lucky’s crew, from Herc, to _stay away_ from them, but he’s a ranger. He can handle himself. He doesn’t need his daddy coming to rescue him from monsters anymore.

 

Chuck Hansen is the cutest and probably the funnest thing the Beckets have been able to play with in a while. Ginger genes and young, easily embarrassed, it’s nearly endearing. They’re currently working on pulling him into playtime. Yancy gets first bite, of course. Older, smarter, stronger. They make a game out of it, challenging Chuck to a play fight, quickly overpowering him and wrestling him into Raleigh’s lap.

Raleigh wraps his arms around Chuck’s middle, grinning savagely at his struggles. Kid’s strong, that’s for sure, but the Beckets have been in this game longer. He stills quick enough, and Raleigh can feel his mounting nervousness when he isn’t released. “Ah, Rol-Rahyl-Rahleigh,” Chuck stammers, Aussie accent preventing him from getting his name fastened under his tongue just right, “I get it; you win. Can ya’ lemme go now?” The aforementioned Becket just huffs a laugh and tightens his hold slightly, uncrossing his legs and putting them on either side of Chuck’s-also outstretched-ones, effectively caging him in. Or at least making it seem like it.

Yancy’s already approaching, dropping to a crouch when he’s in front of Chuck and cupping the back of his neck-hard, from the look of it. Chuck goes rigid. “Alrigh’, ya’ fuckers, jokes over,” he thrashes a little bit, not that it does anything, “I get it. Let me go.” Yancy, dear, sweet, loving, sadistic, Yancy, bites his own lip to suppress a wicked grin. Hysterical laughter is threatening to bubble up and spill out of Raleigh’s mouth. “Oh, Baby Hansen,” Raleigh begins, hissing into his ear, “You’ve done it now.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhangers; gotta love 'em.


	5. Moral Ambiguity

Chuck wakes up with a heavy taste in his mouth and sandwiched between two Beckets on possibly the smallest bed he’s ever seen. Yancy at his back and Raleigh at his front, Chuck is trapped in a blonde-ginger-blonde human straightjacket which he desperately wishes to be freed from so he can go clean himself up, and try not to think last night ever happened. And also take a piss.

His dad is going to kill him.

Hell, his dad is going to _them_ first and then move onto him. He fears for the life of his genitals.

Last night had been an experience, though, to say the least. Helluva first time. His dad probably can’t do much in the area of grounding him, though, he’s sixteen; legal in Sydney, probably legal in Manila. Probably. Besides, it’s not like he’s gonna get his virginity back through his dad ranting at two psychos. Two psychos who knew how to fuck you six ways from sunday, apparently.

Chuck makes a move to sit up and stretch out, but is immediately hauled down by arms on either side of his torso. One arm around his torso and the other around his waist, Raleigh’s head on his shoulder and Yancy’s in the crook of his neck. “Not time to rouse yourself yet, Koala,” Yancy murmurs into his ear, and he wanted to punch Yancy for the stupid nickname, but figured it would end up better for himself if he just let it go. He didn’t call them psychos for nothing.

-

Herc was worried. Chuck hadn’t returned to their quarters last night, and with the Beckets in the ‘dome, Herc thought he had the right to look out for his son. His son who was going to get his arse beat if he was fucking about with the Beckets.

He isn’t sure what happened to the Beckets. The boys never acted like this before, when he’d interacted with them. Given that that was usually only during Fleet Week and PPDC arranged occasions, so maybe their nice calm brotherly act was just a façade. Maybe it had something to do with their plugin. He’d heard rumors floating around the Jaeger Bay about some glitch or bug. Perhaps their software was corrupted and caused them to turn out like this. Who knew. The thing that shook him the most was the word _sentient_ being tossed around behind the scant cover of hands.

No matter what they are, Herc doesn’t want his son anywhere near it.

-

Yancy Becket is just about done with this nonsense. Herc Hansen has been screeching in his and his brother’s ears for the past fifteen minutes, little plaything Chuckie looking annoyed and embarrassed. Okay so maybe he wasn’t done with that last one. The kid looked amusing like that. His dad, though, was really getting on his fucking nerves. And Raleigh’s too, by proxy.

However, Yancy sees Herc as an asset, so he’d rather not piss him off. Raleigh wouldn’t piss him off unless Yancy felt like it, so he stays still at his side, posture sagging just a bit. So _maybe_ fucking his son wasn’t the best idea, but it was fun. Delicious ginger and all that. “Sorry, sir,” Yancy says, but Herc doesn’t lower his bristling profile.

“Dad,” Baby Hansen pipes up from behind Herc, “I’m _sixteen_ , I’m legal in Sydney! I can make these choices!” Hercules tosses a look over his shoulder at his son, and then a venomous one at the Beckets. “Fine,” Herc relents after a few moments, straightening up even more, “Kwoon training in two hours. Be there.” Yancy glances at Raleigh subtly, and they exchange equally unimpressed looks. “Yes, sir,” Yancy says, saluting him and then crossing his arms.

Herc stomps off with Chuck in tow, and Yancy nudges Raleigh’s side, arms still crossed. “Hey kid, wanna go freak out some techs?” He asks casually, still watching the retreating Hansens. “Hell yeah, Yance,” Raleigh replies, grinning, and Yancy smiles just a tad darkly, uncrossing his arms and reaching over to ruffle his brother’s hair. “Good boy.”


End file.
